


Lions of Zion

by Mun V (Vendetta_Panda)



Series: Tails of Vendetta: The OC Collection [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fantasy, Guns, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Religion, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendetta_Panda/pseuds/Mun%20V
Summary: A collection of short stories set in an alternate universe with fantasy/mythical elements and creatures, featuring an original character and her relationship with the Burned Man.
Relationships: Joshua Graham (Fallout)/Original Female Character(s), Joshua Graham/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tails of Vendetta: The OC Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901608
Kudos: 1





	1. Homeward Bound

It was hard for the woman who had wandered the earth for so long to give up that strange wanderlust she’d developed in her twenty or so years of doing it. She wasn’t born with it. Rather, it was an acquired taste. A craving her pallet had grown accustomed to after having been on the run for so long, wandering the dusts and sands, coming and going like the sun; it seemed to rest itself on her shoulder no matter where she went, carried by her in her endeavors for something greater. Her only companion for the longest time had been its scorching rays on her back. The endless search for a home had brought her to Zion. To Joshua. The steep canyon walls and the tribes that made a home within them became her home and her family. Joshua became the mender to her broken soul, the healer to wounds still open and festering after the decades which had passed with no respite to the agony of her own emotions. He became the new sun in her life, for he watched over her shoulder with a pleasant warmth that dared not scrape the uneven tones of her back. He was never anything but gentle with her, taming the lioness whose spirit had been stolen long ago and returning it to her. 

But even he knew the truth: at best he had only pacificied her, for not even he could tame a creature born so wild as a queen of beasts. 

Inevitably, she would go back to the Mojave. Sometimes, for just a few days. Sometimes, for a few weeks. It bittered his heart to let her go. His mouth ran dry, his lungs out of breath, his mind out of words when it came time to say goodbye. His arm suddenly weighed so much more when he had to raise it to wave her off. His eyes burned as he watched her disappear in the distance. From the moment she was gone, the world suddenly felt so much colder. His bed, so empty without her. His only comforts were the cross she’d fashioned for him and draped over his neck: a display of love, of fealty to him, and the flowers she’d planted around their “den”, golden and orange and from which she’d been gifted her namesake. And his prayers. From when the work of the Lord was done, his tasks completed, his tribe satisfied, Joshua sat and he prayed for Marigold. He prayed for her safety out in the wastes and the safety of her return. She traveled with the caravans, but still, he bid his God protect her. And he took great comfort in knowing that she knew this, for it offered him warmth. Minimal as it was, he felt Marigold with him, and she felt him too each night when she gazed at the stars and remembered they were the same stars she saw with Joshua. 

She always came back to him. And for that, he was most grateful. The sight of her standing up on a wagon, gait tall and proud— truly that of a most regal queen, as she searched for him in the crowds never failed to lift his heart from where it sank into his guts. Without fail, she would call out to him and she would make her way over quickly, yet without sacrificing grace, and the two would greet each other with a press of their head and soft words of how they missed each other dearly. They would retire to their den in Angel Cave for a while after, Marigold to clean herself and tell him all about what she’d seen, and Joshua to help and to listen to her. She went beyond simply telling him about the politics of the desert- of the Bear and the Bull and how the two raged on in endless combat. She would go on long-winded tangents about the flowers she’d seen, the people she’d met, the places she’d explored. She spoke of the wasteland as though it were a paradise- her only trouble plaguing her in such a wondrous land being that he was not there with her. Not there to marvel in it all with him. 

“The outside world is tainted,” she’d echo his words. “But there are parts of it that are beautiful. Worthy of love. Starved of it.”

And Joshua would hum, contemplating and pondering on her words. Sometimes he would comment, sometimes he would not. To Marigold, what mattered most was that he listened. He was so good at that. Even when she did not have the words, even when she could not speak them, he listened. He listened not only with his ears, but with his heart. In return, she devotedly did the same. Together, the two could talk themselves into the night, bonding over their shared philosophies as well as their differences. Even in the most contrasting of ideas they were open-minded, they were civil. They lived in peace together. They both had learned long ago that relationships were too precious to end over trivial arguments. Rage could be tempered by patience and by understanding, just as well as mercy.

They knew too well how quickly one could lose everything. And they didn’t want to lose each other.


	2. The Strongest Thing in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marigold and Joshua have some pretty deep conversations when they're alone with each other.

_ What must it have felt like? _

It was the only thought that Marigold could bring to the forefront of her mind, blurring her sense of concentration. She watched as Joshua pulled off the bandages, wincing at how the fibers of it clung to some stretched pieces of marred skin, forever tinted red by the flames which had engulfed him.  _ Red _ , she thought, and her eyes grew glossy, reflecting the embers of their campfire and the sight of Joshua’s strong body as the tainted and dirtied wrappings fell away from him. They twisted and warped as they fell in long, coiled ringlets, fluttering... like that accursed crimson flag. The same flag that he’d turned his back on. The same flag that had fell over her homelands, casting a long shadow that had for years been seen as a bad omen. In her heart, Marigold had always known that it would come down to the Legion and the Lionhearts. Bulls and big cats had been sworn enemies for as long as the two had existed. They had fought countless battles, and usually the lions won. Not this time however.

This time, it was the bull who’d claimed victory.

Had it not been for her sandy coat that blended in with the desert sands, her tribal armor painted brown and orange blending into the rocky mountainous terrain as the sun cast its setting glow over the land, Marigold was certain she’d never have survived the path west. She sought the protection, or at least the tolerance of the Bear, hoping to find some sense of solidarity among predators. What she found was disappointing, but at least she’d been safe. She opted to travel to Utah with a Caravan. Though she knew well she’d be grazing a sharp edge while the Legion had a foothold, she trusted she would be safe so long as she blended in. Things didn’t  _ quite _ go according to plan, but in the end, it brought her to Joshua. It brought her to the tribes. 

It brought her home. 

It also brought her to witness as he bared himself before her, the tender skin still raw in many places and uneven in its wrinkled texture. She winced, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for all those time she’d tried licking him as a lioness. An instinctual urge on her part to care for one she smelled the familiar scent of injury and pain radiating from. Her rough tongue against such rough skin— oh how uncomfortable that must have been to have it irritated! Joshua mirrored her wince, pulling off the last of the bandages from his face before looking at her. Marigold took him in. He had the bluest eyes... It was as though someone captured the very color of the sky as it peered through a gap in the clouds of an overcast sky, smiling down with all of God’s warm sunlight, reassuring the earth that all would be okay in time. Though the skin of his face was just as marred as the rest of him, she could make out shapes of where his cheekbones were, the concavity of his cheeks, his jawline and his chin and where his brow set itself. The skin was healing. With difficulty perhaps, but it was healing. 

Marigold wasn’t sure how to feel at first. Her heart ached at the sight. The idea that anyone could be so cruel as to set a living man ablaze before throwing him to his presumed death down a canyon made her heart lurch. It made it her blood boil to know he’d been so heinously harmed, so selfishly used as a scapegoat for another’s own insecurity and image issues. It made her feel guilty that she could not offer him any aid for the pain. It made her stomach turn in a slow, sickening roll that had bile clawing its way up her throat that such cruelty existed on someone so undeserving of it. Her emotions did not battle for long. Her neutral expression falling into one of shock. She saw the clouds part, the light of heaven and the blue sky twinkling in his eyes. Then Joshua smiled.

And when he did, the radiance and the warmth of his expression cut through her inhibitions like a hot dagger through Brahmin butter, and it melted her heart. She’d never seen Joshua’s face before, and just like that he managed to steal her breath from her. He was beautiful, she thought. This man had been through hell, metaphorically and literally, and yet, he refused to stop living. He refused to stop standing up for what he thought was right. He refused to stop being kind and gentle and loving and generous. He was beautiful in every sense of the word.

“Let’s get started then,” she tested her voice after a small clearing of the throat and moved closer to him. In her lap, she had a jar of homemade medicine. Grinding broc flowers and horse nettle with bighorner fat and fish oil made a nice thin paste that was excellent for the skin. It healed it rather nicely. She collected some in her fingers and gently pressed it to Joshua’s skin. He didn’t seem bothered by it. Rather, he seemed intrigued by the way her hands trailed along his arm with featherlight touches, slowly spreading the ointment into his skin and lightly rubbing it in so his ashy flesh could soak up as much of it as possible. 

“You’ve been quite knowledgeable with medicine. Was learning about it part of your tribal duties?”

“A Queen must be strong, brave, wise, clever, and most knowledgeable in not only the practices of her people, but the practices that keep those practices alive.” Marigold hummed a bit, pausing as she realized she was rambling. “...I did have to learn a lot about medicine. Not just because of our daring warriors. You would not believe some of the wounds I saw from people who were simply a bit too passionate about dancing during festivities.”

“You must have been very wise then.” 

_ Not wise enough _ , she thought.

“Not as wise as I should have been.”

Joshua glanced at her, or rather the top of her head as she focused herself on the efforts of her hands on his upper arm. “You should not speak so lowly of yourself. You do yourself a great disservice by lingering in the past.”

“I’m sorry.” She crooned. “It’s a difficult thing to avoid. I look around at all these people that I have come to love- the Dead Horses, the Sorrows. I see the faces of my pride, my loved ones- I see my family.  _ They are _ my family now after all, I know but… but then I blink, and I remember that I am not the same as them and I never will be.” 

The movements of her hands slowed, grinding to a half as her words trailed off. Joshua paused, thinking she might continue, but when she didn’t he placed his hand over hers, bringing her to raise her head a bit and look at him. “They know you are different, but they still love you. God still loves you,” he leaned closer, “ _ I _ still love you.” 

A moment passed— a moment without words, where sky blue eyes met the honey gold color of amber illuminated by the sun. Marigold resumed her gentle caressing after a minute and Joshua continued. “I remember I told you when you first arrived here at Zion that love is what kept me alive. The love of the people of New Canaan, who welcomed me back as their prodigal son, as though I hadn’t brought shame upon them all with the atrocity of my actions. Love is a powerful thing, Marigold.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “Love is  _ the most _ powerful thing in the world.” 

Now it was Joshua’s turn to pause. He looked to her again, itching to hear more. Marigold did not disappoint.

“There has not been one other feeling in this world that has had half as many stories written about it as love. The bond between friends, family, lovers— love in its purest form is something unbreakable. It is the mother to everything we know to be good and virtuous: patience, kindness, compassion, peace.”

“But?” He knew her manner of speaking. Marigold was one to be pragmatic. Even in the most joyous of times, she was reasonably pessimistic. There was a caveat to everything with her.

“But even in its purest form, love can breed evil. We’ve read about it so many times, Joshua.” Her voice rose a bit. “People have killed in the name of love. They have committed unforgivable sins, betrayed those closest to them, destroyed everything and salted the earth in the name of love that is not pure.”

“But how can such blame be imparted on something like love?”

She looked at him. “Because people have acted awfully in its name.”

“Then it is not love.”

She pulled back to give him a puzzled look. “I don’t follow.”

“If love is the strongest thing in the world and it can breed only good things, then how can it be evil?”

“Because it drives people to do evil.”

“Then it is not love that causes destruction.” Joshua leaned over away from her, gathering up a tomahawk beside him. “The way I see it, love is a tool. Like faith, or like this tomahawk. It has a noble purpose: to connect us and to keep us strong. And like any other tool, it can be misused if one does not understand it.” Joshua swung the weapon lightly in one hand. “And when that happens—“ suddenly he threw it down, its blade sinking into the soft ground, “—Love is no more to blame in a battle than the weapon used to kill someone. It is the man behind it that failed to understand love and learn mercy and compassion from it.”

“Love is the strongest thing in the world… but it is not universally understood.”

“Precisely.” 

Another moment of silence passed between them, a moment where her hands laid idle against his body, this time working over his shoulder and starting now at the bottom of his back. And then Marigold spoke up again. “At this point, I’m beginning to realize it’s not universal either.”

“What has convinced you to believe that?” Joshua glanced over his shoulder.

“How can’t I when people like the Legion exist?” 

Joshua felt the touch of her hands grow a bit firmer in his back and moved to stare ahead of himself again, breathing deeply. Among much more lighthearted and positive things, that was something the two of them had in common:  **they’d both been wronged by the Legion** . 

Marigold, upon hearing him sigh, let up a bit. Her voice abandoned the harsh, resentful tone it had clung to just moments before. Her hands lingered on his sides, fingers pressed lightly against his ribs. Suddenly he felt another weight pressing into his shoulder blades. Not painful, but intriguing all the same. When he glanced over his shoulder, he could see Marigold resting her head against his back, her eyes fluttering shut as she spoke in such a soft, somber tone that it made his heart lurch. 

“All the other creatures of the world just do what they have to do to get food and survive. If they must fight, they fight. If they must kill, they kill. If they must run, they run. And even still, they feel a deep love for each other and for life.” She shook her head a bit. “But men like those in the Legion are never satisfied until they’ve spoiled the earth, killed all the people and the animals among its lands— or worse, enslaved them— and salted it over so nothing more can grow where they have tread. There is no love in what they do. Even when they say it is for Caesar, or for their prosperous future, for each other… there is no love that can exist in something like that, Joshua...”

He hummed, thinking for what felt like a good long while but in all likeliness was only a good few seconds. “...Not all sins can be forgiven. Come judgement day, their transgressions will condemn to the fate they have earned. But until then, we can’t expect God to do all the work.”

Marigold cracked a small smile at that last bit. She drew back, and Joshua fought a shiver that wanted to run up his spine. The sudden absence of heat around him was never something he thought he might miss, but he did. Marigold wasn’t like the scorching agony of the fire that had engulfed him. She was like the warmth of pleasant sunshine on a new spring day. Energizing. Refreshing. Making his heart rattled in his chest.

Her hands finished their work on his back, and Joshua watched as she crept around him to his other side. She worked her way up his other arm and he merely leaned back and let out a relaxed sigh as she did. It took him a while to think of a new conversation topic, but finally he looked at her, an amused little look on his face. 

“Do you believe in fate?”

“Fate?” She glanced up, raising a brow. 

“The idea that Our Lord has set us on a path to be followed which will inevitably lead us to our destiny.” 

“I believe that things always happen for a reason- maybe some things just aren’t meant to be, while other things are. But... I also don’t believe that the future is set in stone either... or at least, some  _ parts _ of it. Some things are going to happen, whether we like it or not. Some things we can change. What we do today will inevitably affect tomorrow, won’t it?”

A pause, a Marigold’s hands temporarily rose and pulled away from where they had been gently applying the mixture to his chest, only to return as she tried to shrug off the response with a quick “I don’t know- it’s a difficult thing to describe…”

Now that was an interesting answer all the same. The idea that some things were predetermined and yet other things were not. It almost seemed contradictory, yet it managed to capture the very essence of what could be described as the balance of life. For it was complicated and difficult to understand, especially alone. And now, he had Marigold and her kind-hearted and brave spirit to listen to him and learn from his mistakes. He watched for a moment as she drew closer, her hands sweeping up over his chest, his collarbone, past the protrusion over his neck and throat, and finally her soft hands found his face. She rubbed the paste into the morphed skin, the aromatic scent of the medicine and her— so floral, so earthy— it flooded his senses. She cupped his cheeks to spread it more thoroughly and he caught her wrists, catching her attention. When he spoke, her eyes widened.

“Do you believe  _ we _ were meant to meet?”

A pause, and her eyelids fell just the slightest. “I do  _ want _ to believe that I was meant to be here. And I do…  _ want _ it to be for some greater reason than just my pride was killed and I had nowhere else to go…” she drew closer, and now Joshua was the one to lose his breath as he mirrored her action. “I want to believe that it was your God who led me here.”

“Strange, isn’t it…?” he breathed. “I want to believe you found your way here all on your own, undetermined by fate… and how we came to be  _ was  _ a  _ miracle  _ on its own.”

He leaned forward, pressing his scorched lips to hers. It felt odd how soft they were. Scar tissue was always so much more tender than untouched skin. Velvety in its texture, comforting in its own ways. Marigold hesitated to drape her arms over his shoulders, but feeling him pull her just the slightest bit closer for the kiss reassured her that it would be okay. It was chaste, it was brief, but it was sweet, and it ended with them resting their foreheads together in that way that Joshua knew would make Marigold purr with delight. 

“We may be  _ ‘rough around the edges _ ’ but I believe God  _ intended _ for us to be this way.”

Marigold giggled softly, caressing his freshly moisturized cheek. “I suppose frayed puzzle pieces are just harder to pull apart. They’re always the strongest when you’re trying to separate them.”

“That’s because it’s just as you said: love is the strongest thing in the world.” He murmured, leaning in for another kiss. 


	3. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With so few of the tribesmen willing to venture out and gather some much-needed equipment from the Old World buildings out of fear and suspicion, Joshua and Marigold decide to head out and do some scavenging themselves. Unfortunately, the living past proves to be something much more difficult to pick through than just the crumbling remains of a dead history.
> 
> (This particular chapter is based on an AU idea my friend and I had where Marigold was captured and kept as a prisoner of the Legion during the reign of the Malpais Legate, as opposed to the other chapters, which have focused on her escaping the Legion after the defeat of her tribe and meeting Joshua through the whole Honest Hearts timeline.)

(Inspired by [this post](https://the-boyos-of-silence.tumblr.com/post/182156277543/an-old-art-i-finally-got-around-to-animating) by [the-boyos-of-silence](https://the-boyos-of-silence.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.)

It wasn’t often that the Burned Man ventured from Dead Horse point. He had a duty to the Dead Horses after all, guiding them physically and spiritually demanded his near constant presence in the camp. Unfortunately, the tribe’s grievous superstitions about old world buildings meant that they often refused to scout the places for themselves- a grave issue, considering those buildings tended to have exactly the kinds of resources they needed to help themselves in such conflicted times as these. Aside from Follows-Chalk: he was the only one bold enough and willing to investigate the places for resources, yet despite his willingness, unfortunately, he was still only an amateur scavenger. And so Joshua sometimes has to cut his losses and venture out to investigate these buildings for himself. And as it always was, tirelessly and without fail, accompanying him was Marigold. 

The lioness was eager to get out of the cave every once in a while. Before she had come to Zion, her tribe had lived out in the vast expansive wilds East of the Colorado River. The Frontier, as she called it, were wide plains of grass learning to grow once more from the ashes of a scorched earth, breathing in the fires and scenting the air with a sweet mix of flowers and pollen. They were rich with game, irradiated as that game might have been. Shaggy bison with fattened hocks and sharpened horns that only the greatest of hunters could bring down, and tender-meat prairie dogs that the young cubs would lure out of burrows and pounce on for snacks. She was born and bred for the outdoors, having learned from a young age to know places like Angel Cave only as a temporary shelter, for the wild called out to her spirit, inviting her to embark on an adventure. In being free of their safe but often boring little haven, she was happy to join Joshua in his work, and even happier to be able to do her part in helping the tribe. _Her_ new tribe.

She volunteered to join him long ago on any excursions but Joshua, ever the cautious one, often preferred that she stayed behind to mother the tribe in that special way she knew how. Or so he said. He spoke no lie when he gave her such a reason, truly believing in her maternal and survival skills and seeing them as invaluable in their depth, but truthfully, the real reason he hesitated to let her come along was his own growing protectiveness over her. Like a desert cacti’s bloom, she was meant to be admired from afar but never touched. Unfortunately, the Legion felt no pain in destroying the defenses she’d naturally put up, crushing her, nearly destroying her altogether. She came to him a withering flower, but through his merciful guidance and tender love, she was thriving once more. Thriving and surviving as she was always meant to, well protected with him as her new thorns. Yet Marigold insisted that she could do her duty to the tribe, and after much pleading and deliberation, he finally relented. But he’d keep an eye on her. 

Just as much as she’d keep an eye on him.

Into the canyons they ventured, well-supplied and well-knowledgeable of their surroundings. They lingered in the cool shadows of the towering rock faces with steps that dug into soft rich soil slowly being reclaimed by lush flowers heavy with fruiting buds, following the paths laid alongside the rivers walking hand and hand through the valleys as Adam and Eve did through the Garden of Eden. The distant call of Big Horners and the echoes of the running waters carried on the wind that blew through Marigold’s hair, the whistle of it moving through plants filling the air with a sweet aroma of banana yucca and agave. Stepping up a bank and crossing an old bridge that groaned and creaked in protest under their shifting weights, the two finally made it to an old trailer park, mobile homes sun-bleached and weathered by long-faded radiation and the ceaseless changing of the seasons. Joshua touched the rusted metal, seeing flecks of it crumble and fall as he pulled his hand away. 

“This season’s rains may well be the last this place sees.”

“It’s falling apart.” Marigold hesitated, before moving towards the entrance of one trailer, pushing the door open and wincing at how it squealed on its hinges. She craned her neck to sniff at the stagnant air of its interior while Joshua watched, a glint of curiosity catching his in his eyes as her words echoed in his mind. 

_‘In a place like Dead Horse Point it doesn’t do much good,’_ she’d tell him. _‘But out there, in the wilds of the canyons, my keen sense of smell has many uses.’_

“Smell anything useful?” He chuckled.

“It’s damp and earthy… nature is beginning to reclaim this place. We’ll have to head in to see for ourselves.” Marigold pushed onward, stepping inside. 

It felt like a whole other world inside the trailer. Storms had left gaps in the shelter walls and persevering plants were pushing their way into the safe haven. A carpeted floor, an old couch and table, a small kitchenette area. It all seemed so cozy. Her nose told her it was no different from the outside world she was familiar with, but her eyes would not let her see it that way. Marigold felt as if she was looking back. Back through time, into another life, a life so much calmer, perhaps easier-- certainly more comfortable. Hazy and faded scents of a man, woman, and child lingered in this place beneath the foliage. Another life- another set of lives was lived here. She treaded lightly, for she knew this was sacred ground to those who had met their demise here. Her fingers lightly traced over a countertop, gazing around at the many utensils and appliances made for this tiny house of sorts. 

Behind her, Joshua followed her inside. He glanced around, noticing how Marigold was taking her time taking everything in. No harm, he supposed. She was always such a curious creature, so eager to explore, to discover. And oftentimes, she paused as she did now to take in the world around her, as if communing with God to give her insight into what this world was before the fires of hell had rained down, before a Second Ark had been erected, before another 10 plagues had befallen his earth to to cast out the sinners. She heard his voice like no other. He was touched by her in ways he’d not seen in anyone in a long long time. A saint, perhaps a patron saint of what it meant to survive and to thrive in the face of cruelty. A survivor above all— yes, the Patron Saint of Survival, Marigold of Zion. 

How blessed he felt to have her. 

He smiled beneath his bandages and let her be, venturing deeper into the mobile home, past the living space and down a short hallway. He investigated the bedroom, finding little left of any real value or use. Bits of scrap here and there, small toys, old world attire. Perhaps there would be something more useful in the bathroom. Much like the rest of the house, the lavatory was overrun by plants, falling apart and long void of uses for its original purpose. Yet it remained a beacon of hope. Old world medicines, bottles of water and components for things like compasses were scattered about. Joshua took his time collecting them, emptying the medicine cabinet on the wall before shutting it. He did a double-take and tensed, catching his own reflection in the mirror. Meters upon meters of bandages wound tightly around skin as red and angry now as it was when he’d first been cast to the canyon, and peering out of dirtied white and a sliver of red were two piercing blue eyes. Blue eyes that leered upon his form with such a sense of disdain, such unsanctimonious hatred. The same blue eyes that marked the final moments of life and the final sight before eternal darkness for so many innocent people. The same blue eyes that demanded reverence from the Legion. The same blue eyes that had looked upon so many and resigned them to the cruel fate of dying on a cross. The same blue eyes that fell across the east to absorb so many tribes, toppling their orders, destroying their fragile history, their languages, their traditions, their families. The same blue eyes that had shamed New Canaan and destroyed his own family. 

The same blue eyes Marigold somehow managed to look into each and every day with only love and warmth. 

But he could only look into them and feel rage. Such unholy rage most unbecoming of a good God-fearing man such as himself. It was as though the wrath of God had poured itself into his heart, overtaken him, turned his vision as red as his own skin. Before he knew it, Joshua was slamming his fist into the face of his reflection, growling as it shattered in a dozen fractals, leaving only more versions of himself staring back at him. The devil used his deceptions to multiply himself, each pair of eyes leering at Joshua as he heaved in breaths to calm himself; laughing at him, at his efforts to destroy himself. He dared look the devil in the eye, raising one shard of the shattered mirror and gazing into it. What he saw horrified him. The wicked trickster! With a tilt of his wrist, a stray sunbeam caught the surface, and for a fleeting moment Joshua saw himself as he used to be. As he once was. 

A servant of evil.

_The Malpais Legate._

And just as quickly the image vanished, his bandages returning to remind him of the penance that he served for his sins, that he would spend the rest of his life serving in the muffled hope that, come judgement day, he might be forgiven for all of his transgressions. And yet Joshua shook his head, realizing that no, this was not the case. There was no devil in the mirror. Only him. But he was still the devil in his own right for what he hand done, and the thoughts did cause him to squeeze the shard, watching as the edges of its surface dug into the marred skin of his fingers, watching as crimson spilled forth and stained his bandages, ran over the surface until he could see those damned eyes no longer. 

“Joshua!” The sound of his love’s startled voice drew him from his blind anger. He turned towards her, and some type of holy light must have radiated from the lioness, sending the devil retreating from where it had cast its hands over his eyes and making him drop the mirror shard in his grasp. He seemed stunned as she moved to examine him.

“Are you hurt? What happened- Oh God, you’re bleeding!” She clasped his arm and dug into her bag for some of her healing powder, gently wrapping the wound with spare bandages she had made just earlier that day. “Joshua, what happened? What was that sound?”

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t. His eyes could merely fixate on where her hands met his own. So gentle, so tender. Just like the New Canaanites had been upon witnessing his return. He wanted to tell her exactly what happened, what he had seen, but how could he tell her the truth?

How could he ask for her forgiveness when he could not even forgive himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Transgressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joshua thinks back to the period of time in his life where he called himself the Malpais Legate. And when Marigold and he knew each other to be very different people.
> 
> (This particular chapter is based on an AU idea my friend and I had where Marigold was captured and kept as a prisoner of the Legion during the reign of the Malpais Legate, as opposed to the other chapters, which have focused on her escaping the Legion after the defeat of her tribe and meeting Joshua through the whole Honest Hearts timeline.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> Just a bit of forewarning, this chapter in particular will touch on the topics of slavery, a period of unhealthy relationships, mentions of death (including child death), domestic violence, and brutal violence that is typical of the Legion.

_ Screaming.  _

_ It was all he could hear for several moments, yet it felt like it stretched on for many unbearable hours. There was a fury blending into the sheer agony of the guttural sounds being wrenched out of a sore throat. Joshua stalked forward, his vision hazy and the world around him dark, but he could make out the flickering of a roaring fire, the shadows of men surrounding something on the ground. Suddenly, like a bottle of alcohol being thrown down and shattering upon the ground, the group burst apart and scattered. A clattering of chains, a shadow left behind, black and dark against the flames and low to the ground. The lion took sight of him and pounced forward. _

Had it not been for the bandages, Joshua would have been in a cold sweat as he jolted up from a not-so-sound slumber. Yet even still, his wrappings were damp. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he placed a hand over it seeking to calm himself. Wide blue eyes darted around himself, recognizing the familiar sights and sounds of Angel Cave around him. Once the white noise that flooded his ears from his momentary panic had ceased, he recognized the sound of soft breaths coming from beside him. His love lay resting peacefully on the bed beside him, dark hair fading to a lovely blonde color down at its tips, catching the light of the fire and appearing red and orange in the light, her skin glowing bronze with curled rivers of hot lava flowing over her shoulders and down her back.

He dreamed of her. He dreamed of himself. Back when they were not who they were now. Back when they were different people. When he was a Legate, she was his slave. Back before there was forgiveness, before there was hope. Before there was love, and faith, and change. He’d dreamed at least a thousand times what it might have been like if she’d gone against her word and killed him. Or tried to at least. She said she never would- for in doing so, she would be no better than her captors. Killing without honor or reason for survival was against her nature. He could hardly blame her if she had ever decided to make the attempt. The Legion had taken everything from her, and he had been in charge of seeing to that. Her tribe, her family, her home, her child— it was all gone. And she was left to be a trophy, a spoil of war. A lion on a leash. The greatest humiliation a non-human could receive. The thought still made him shudder.

As he looked over her, there was a quivering his chest. He could still see the marks his old self had left on her. The old scar along the curve of her jaw that faded up into her cheek from where he’d knocked her hard across the face with his .45 pistol. The eternal stains on her arms and legs from where he’d cut her with the chains as he dragged her along. Old crescent shaped marks left by nails pinning her wrists to immobilize her. The forever discolored patch on her back where her skin had forever been warped and twisted by him bringing his boot down on her spine so many times. Throbbing guilt ate away at his chest as he recalled all the times he’d ruined her. But even these paled in comparison to the sinking feeling in his gut as he saw the slash across her clavicle. And suddenly, his biggest regret returned to him, slamming into him with a force unlike any he’d ever felt before.

_ It had been a day like any other.  _

_ He woke up to the lioness purring as she ran her fingers through his hair, her warm body pressed up against and held close by strong arms. He admired the way the dim light of the tent made those amber eyes seem to glow. They shared a bed together these days. How strange it was- such a far cry from the days where he would waste his weeks away tracking her down and bringing her back to be punished for escaping. But things had changed. To the surprise of them both. The Legate found comfort in keeping his “slave” so close, for he saw her as more than a slave now. So persisted the rumor that she was making him soft- a rumor that none knew to be true. At least, that was what he thought. A few tender kisses and loving caresses later, the Legate was leaving his tent for the day, setting off to do God only knew what. Marigold sat back in her chains- for as disheartening as the position was she knew as well as he did that she needed to keep up appearances and refrain from encouraging the rumors.  _

_ In the end, it did little to help. _

_ While he was gone that day, Caesar has delivered an order to Lanius to pay the wretched slave a visit. Send a message to the Malpais Legate. And that he did. _

_ In the evening, Joshua returned to quiet murmurs around the camp and the smell of blood in his tent. All the candles had been snuffed, though illumination brought about nothing except for horror at the sight. Collapsed in an unmoving heap smeared with crimson was his precious slave. There was no hesitation, anger thinly veiling his distress as he called for the Legion medic. He cradled her body, demanding assistance to mask the fact that he was terrified to lose the last Lionheart- and his greatest love. He stroked her hair, murmuring to her in Latin and her own tongue as Siri rubbed healing powder into her wounds and bandaged her. Her prognosis was grim. Lanius was as brutal as ever with her, having thrown her about a good bit, forced her into the dirt, and put her to his blade as was evidenced by the long cut that trailed across her collarbone. There was no guarantee that she would survive the night, but if she did, then she might recover from it all.  _

_ Siri left him for the evening. Books and battleplans lay stacked on his desk by the candles, beckoning him to come and work, yet all the Legate could do was draw Marigold in close, hold her against him, and pray. Sleep did not come to him. For hours, he could only rest his forehead against hers and pray that God was still listening, still merciful, still forgiving, still loving. He begged and pleaded: do not let Marigold pay for his sins, do not let his lovely flower bear his crown of thorns. Deliver his penance unto him, and likewise, Lanius’ unto the Second Legate. _

_ It wasn’t until the next evening that Marigold finally stirred from her concerning slumber. Joshua laid her beside him, wanting to be there for when she either woke up, or took her last breath. Every hour that passed weighted his heart more and more, mind whirling at the idea that he might not be granted the opportunity to tell her goodbye. And yet, she stirred. Immediately the pen left his hand and he turned to face her. She sank her nails into him, the pain making her hiss. She was disoriented, injured, but alive. And Joshua could not be more relieved or more elated.  _

_ Now her survival hinged on him caring for her throughout her recovery. _

Joshua leaned over, lightly tracing his finger across the old scar on her chest. A bitter, sorrowful look came to his eyes. How could he be so foolish to leave her like that? How could he be so foolish as to put his trust in Caesar to ignore the word of his men? It was a great shame. Perhaps his greatest in memory. Only the feeling of a hand falling over his and a pair of soft lips kissing his bandaged wrist drew him from his reverie.

“Have you been up long?” The lioness prodded, watching as his hand slowly clasped her own.

“No…” his distant response caused her ears to perk.

“I hear a sadness in your voice. What troubles you, Joshua?” She sat up, moving closer to rest her own palm on his chest.

“...I am plagued by my transgressions. Against others. Against God… Against you.”

“Joshua-“

“It haunts me. Even in my dreams, I cannot escape the memories of all the things I did to you. All the ways I have wronged you. I pray that the Lord forgives me. I pray that you will... but it is not enough. I will never be able to forgive myself.”

“... I understand.”

He turned to face her, having looked away and fixed his gaze on the ground at his feet in humiliation. Yet her soft words, her gentle hands convinced him that he need not be afraid to face her now.

“For I too am haunted by the ways in which I have harmed you.” 

_ As was to be expected with any flower trying to bloom in the poisoned soil of the Legion, their relationship was not without conflict. Even in such a tumultuous time such as her recovery. Wherever the Bull stood, there was conflict to be had. And all too often, it was those who could not defend themselves, like the slaves and prisoners of war, that paid the price. _

_ Which is why the moment she was able to find her feet and walk again, Joshua had made up his mind. _

_ “I am going to make you my wife.” _

_ Just as quickly as they had relearned to stand strong, her legs nearly gave from under her. She whipped her head around to face him, rich curls whirling behind her in an elegant swoop. _

_ “What?” _

_ “I am going to make you my wife.” He came forward, a determined look in his eye. “They beat you and they will receive no consequence for it because you have been reduced to little more than a slave. That is all they see you as.” _

_ “They beat me because they have no honor, no integrity-“ she tried to interject but he cut her off. _

_ “They beat you because they feel they can. Because you are a slave and therefore unworthy of respect. You are below them. Even in my tent. But if I make you my wife—“ he clasped her hands between his, “—then no man will dare to ever lay a hand on you. It would be a death wish to trifle with the wife of a Legate.” _

_ She ripped her hands from his and clutched them against her chest, backing away as though pulling herself from a scorching flame, a raging inferno of her own building within her. “And what makes you think I will do this?” _

_ His voice rose ever so slightly, hands grasping her sore shoulders instead. “Marigold, please, I’m trying to protect you. This is the only way. If you marry me-“ _

_ “No! I will not! I refuse!” She pushed him back, her strength certainly beginning to return as Joshua stumbled back a step, seeing the fury in her eyes, “I would rather die a slave than marry a man of the Legion! I would not and will not ever be wed under that accursed banner!” _

_ “Marigold, I am trying to protect you-“ A searing pain suddenly made itself known across his cheek, his head violently jerking to the side. _

_ “I don’t need your protection, Joshua!” He reached to grab her wrist, a sudden flood of untamed fury erupting in his chest around his weeping heart. The threat made itself known to the cat too quickly. He managed to catch the assaulting hand in his but was not quick enough to stop the other as overgrown nails tore through his exposed undershirt and the tender flesh across his chest beneath.  _

Marigold traced the bandaging across his chest right along where she knew the four scratch marks lay. She’d cut him deep, forced him to release her. Ever defiant. Once again reminding him that for every inch she walked as a slave, she’d walked a mile as a queen, and she would not go quietly into that good night without the last of the Lionhearts putting up some kind of fight. 

She would not insult him by saying it was not intentional. She knew full well that she had intended to claw at him. Yet she still showed humility in apologizing for it, by taking responsibility for her actions.

“I have hurt you much in the same ways that you have hurt me. And I am sorry. But know that I have forgiven you, and what happened back then… has not and will not ever make me love you any less.”

Joshua was silent for a moment, mulling over her words as she moved closer. Her hands slid into his, and once more he was caught off guard. Until she rested her forehead against his and began to pray.

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” He hummed softly as he paused, finally closing his eyes and joining her.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses. As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver from evil.”

“Amen.” She breathed, looking into his eyes. His breath hitched for the slightest moment, as he recognized the pure love she had for him in that familiar amber color. Finally, after a moment of admiration, he breathed out, and with his exhale all the worries in the world of a life long past seemed to leave him with the air exiting his lungs.

“Amen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this! This little collection of drabbles is based on a friend's interpretation of Joshua and could be considered an off-shoot of an upcoming series of fics I'm working on. I don't know how many of these I'll write and they will certainly be in no particular order, but I do hope you enjoy them all the same!


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